


Incalescent

by soup



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soup/pseuds/soup
Summary: Incalescent:(adj.) growing hotter or more ardent; set ablaze.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Incalescent

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure unadulterated filth and indecently indulgent :)  
Thanks [Ryan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeauBennett/) over on Discord for giving it a read-through!  
All mistakes are my own.  


Eames’ dick is a thick cut of prime meat. It’s shorter than that of most men Arthur’s been with, but it fills the width of Arthur’s palm and neatly fits into the loose curl of his lithe fingers - to perfection. 

Eames’ cock is both a wonder and a menace: heavy on Arthur’s tongue and a choking hazard when taken too deep. No one’s ever made Arthur think his mouth is too small, not until that one time Eames stuck his creamy cock—spent but still hard—past the seal of Arthur’s lips and down Arthur’s throat in order to shut him up.

Arthur loves Eames’ cock: the size and shape of it; the taste of Eames’ musk; the sparseness of hair along the shaft and sensitive balls beneath; he delights in the feel of its ridges, in tracing its curve and making it spurt thick ropes of come across flushed skin. 

Arthur loves the feel of Eames’ cock stretching his arsehole, and doubts he’ll ever find a cock that punches him so sweetly, like a missile that rarely misses its target, leaving him crumpled and fucked out. Eames uses the full strength of his body to brand Arthur: he grips Arthur’s hips, holds on like a vice and Arthur becomes spellbound under whatever frantic rhythm Eames sets.

It’s an easy cock to ride too. Its girth’s easy to clamp down on, keeping it from slipping out when they get overzealous. Arthur yearns for the burn in his thighs and the ache in his knees that follows whenever he bounces on Eames’ lap, lost to the pleasure it brings him.

Arthur loves Eames’ cock. He loves to see its outline: soft in Eames’ worn cotton briefs, nascent in those loose trousers the Forger favours, or straining against Arthur’s hip. He loves the lazy days when Eames wears oversized boxers. On those days, Arthur can reach into the slit to waken that thick cut. He revels in watching Eames’ cock swell under the influence of his ministrations, but even moreso loves to witness it harden from verbalised intent or any kind of suggestive attention. 

Eames’ cock is great, and it’s only one of the Forger’s body’s many wonders.

Arthur loves Eames’ arsehole. He loves seeing the furl of skin and how it changes: smooth before a fuck, then puffed and slicked with lube, spit, cum, sometimes all of the above. Arthur likes to stick his tongue into it, burrow his face between those muscular cheeks to french his way into Eames’ head until he’s sucked out all thoughts and words from him. Arthur’s a conductor prying all kinds of incriminating sounds from the Forger with just the application of his mouth, sometimes for hours on end. 

Arthur has a tick. He loves petting Eames’ hole, so much so he often swirls the pads of his fingers across the wrinkled skin but is too distracted to notice that he is doing it. It’s a habit, one he struggles to break as his hand slips over the curve of Eames’ arse without thought. When clothing permits, Arthur’s fingers will seek out the warmth of Eames’ hole without asking permission from either man, hand bold and knowing. _Mine._

Arthur loves stretching Eames open—with his tongue, on his cock, around his fingers. Eames takes it so well. When halfhearted petting causes Eames’ hole to flutter? When the slick swirl of Arthur’s finger causes Eames to clench in an attempt to suck in the prying digit? _Yeah_. Yeah, that’s what Arthur thinks about when they aren’t together. He’ll toy with his own mouth, tease his lips apart and suck his finger in, slurping at it the way Eames’ hole does. Arthur thinks about that when he strokes himself dizzy, hating every moment he’s deprived of the real thing.

Eames takes it so—_so_—well. He’ll resist and yield in equal measure, his hole a searing sin that moulds itself to whatever Arthur gives it: thumb, fingers, fist, dildo, vibrator. There are times Eames asks for Arthur’s cock and two fingers, and then there’s that one time he begged for four, only to outdo himself days later when his hole sucked up Arthur’s cock and a slicked-up vibrator. He was so puffed and red after that Arthur gentled him to exhaustion with the steady flick of his tongue.

Arthur loves to fuck Eames, to reduce him to a long string of meaningless sounds and shuttered breathing. He likes rolling his hips slow and steady, milking Eames into the sheets, completely in control. He’s addicted to the sound of their skin colliding lewd and loud, slapping over and over as Arthur all but carves a permanent place for himself deep inside the Forger. He enjoys the display of Eames’ body as the other rides him, the helpless little whimpers that Eames fucks out of himself as he bruises Arthur’s shoulders, presses his knees around Arthur’s hips and gives gravity a run for its money. Arthur seldom lasts long those days.

Arthur loves breeding Eames’ hole, filling it full of his seed and sealing it there with a plug. He wants to fuck Eames over a desk at work again sometime, when everyone’s out, and then watch Eames’ discomfort during an afternoon briefing as Arthur’s cum slides out of him. What Arthur really likes is shooting off in that syrupy hole and then licking it clean, holding Eames’ orgasm ransom for an hour at least until Arthur can breed him again. On days like those they’ll accessorise. (Eames’ latest chastity cage matches Arthur’s cufflinks.) 

Above all else, Arthur likes watching Eames’ face throughout all of these things. He likes pressing his nose to Eames’ tear-stained cheek as he gingerly fucks their afternoon away, not fast or hard enough to get either of them off. (Those are the days Arthur wears a cock ring that matches Eames’ tiepin.) 

Arthur likes the hot and humid breaths against his ear, those that deliver unintelligible words, broken pleas and mindless confessions. He lives for the manic flick of Eames’ tongue against his own when he fucks the Forger like an animal in heat, vicious and possessive. He loves the way that same tongue will curl around Arthur’s fingers when they’re used to silence Eames as Arthur’s own tongue wreaks havoc below—on that short, thick cock or the Forger’s perfect, needy hole. 

What Arthur yearns for the most, what he loves above all else, is the wonderous look on Eames’ face in the moments after, when he witnesses for his own love mirrored in Eames’ dazed, searching gaze and sees no barriers, no walls, their bond growing stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat inspired by halfhardtorock’s [The University AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116101/chapters/4616973). If you’re looking for something delicious to read and haven’t read this, I highly recommend that you do! It’s sensual and sordid, hits so many sweet trope-spots and the exposition is very well executed.


End file.
